Right Ascension
by Littlefoxylove
Summary: SharonxAndrea UST story, begins in the present and works up to now through flashbacks. New chapter! Medical science-y stuff. (There should be another chapter up soon.)
1. Entropy

_**A/N- I wrote this for several reasons. a) I wanted to. 2) A long, long time ago I told defyingnormalcy I'd write a long Hobbs/Raydor fic. iii) I want something I can use as a study break. I'm taking a lot of credits, working, studying for the MCAT, and playing club rugby this semester, so please forgive me if the chapters are far apart. I'll do my best.**_

 _ **Oh yeah, one small plot twist. I'm writing Andrea as a diabetic. I know she doesn't in the show, but it could still easily be played that way. Most of my teachers and friends- all the way through grade school, k-12- didn't know I was. I think there's very little t1 representation in everything: books, shows, magazines, news, so I decided to do this. Let me know what you think.**_

* * *

 ** _Entropy- a thermodynamic quantity, often interpreted as the degree of disorder or randomness in the system_**

 _August 2015_

Rusty leaned forward and drew his shoulders back, allowing his back to crackle into place again.

"Doing okay?" Andrea glanced over at him.

He shrugged. "I'm fine."

She sighed tiredly. "That's not what I'm asking. Are you okay?"

He watched her stretch her arms as she stood on the tiled floor in her socks. He didn't really know Andrea Hobbs, not really. She had become a fixture in his life recently, and he suspected she had been around the block a few times already.

Sharon's block, that was.

He didn't ask, and they'd never said, but he was fairly certain they had been. . . well, more than friends at some point. There was just some kind of odd chemistry between them. They had little jokes and glances that flew way over his head.

He'd never heard anything at night, never woken up to find Andrea in the kitchen or sneaking out the door, but he couldn't fathom another reason for her presence in a hospital waiting room with him.

Sharon had been injured.

He had always known it was a possibility when one lived in a city with three million people. The risk was even higher when one was a cop, but he had never expected it.

She had been driving home. She had texted him, telling him she was on her way home. She would have been the 101, going north, and then. . . something had happened. Lieutenant Provenza wouldn't say and neither would Flynn.

Rusty assumed it was something to do with her job. He supposed that some maniac could have accidentally run her off the road, but he didn't know.

It had been late when Provenza called. The squad had gotten off work late, and Sharon had texted around eight to tell him she was on her way home. Rusty had been slightly worried when she hadn't arrived by nine- they only lived in Los Feliz and it wasn't that far away from downtown.

And then he'd gotten the call.

He'd almost missed it, because his phone was on vibrate, and he was watching a video on YouTube. He'd caught it after several rings and Provenza's tone had immediately set him on edge.

 _"Yeah?"_

 _"Rusty?"_

 _"Lieutenant?"_

 _"Look, kid, you're at the Captain's condo, aren't you?"_

 _"Yeah. . . Why?"_

 _"Meet me in the lobby in ten minutes. I'm on my way."_

 _"Wait!" He paused the video. "Did something happen to Sharon? What's wrong?"_

Now he was sitting in the Saint Vincent's waiting room with a lawyer he didn't really know. Provenza had only stayed with him for as long as it took for Andrea to arrive.

"Rusty?"

"Huh?"

"Are you alright?" Andrea said it slower this time.

"Yeah. I'm sure," he added. He looked back up after a moment. "Are you okay?"

She shrugged and resumed pacing.

"Did someone call Ricky and Emily?"

She nodded. "I did."

"What about Jack?"

"Don't worry about Jack."

Rusty decided to take that as a 'no.'

"Where is everyone?"

She stopped pacing. "Her squad?"

"Yeah."

"They're all over the scene. Not that they can do anything; they're all to close to the case."

" _Was_ it an accident?" Rusty frowned. "What hap-"

Andrea sighed and dropped into the chair next to him. "Allegedly the scene of a crime."

"Alleg-"

"They can't officially call it a crime scene until-"

"What?"

Andrea paused before speaking. "They have to do some preliminary things first. Bureaucratic paperwork."

"So it's not a car accident." So much paperwork for a crash? Unlikely.

Andrea shot him a look. "Rusty."

He decided not to push any more buttons. Andrea wasn't Sharon. The lawyer had a rather famously short temper that neatly matched her usual cynicism.

She sighed again, adjusting her attitude. "The rest of Major Crimes will be here soon. Gavin is coming as well, after he sorts out Ricky and Emily."

"Emily?" Ricky lived only a few hours away, but Emily was in New York, beginning the fall ballet season. "She can get a flight already?"

"Gav'll find her the first plane she can catch out of New York."

"Oh."

The double doors swung open, and Rusty and Andrea both looked up. A man in scrubs and a patterned surgical cap stood in the doorway, looking around the room.

"Raydor?" he asked finally.

Rusty jumped to his feet. It took Andrea another moment to slide her shoes back on, but she caught up to him, and they reached the man together.

The doctor looked confused. "Are you Sharon's family?" It was procedure to announce by last name and confirm with the first, but neither person standing before him looked at all like the woman that had just come through his operating room. She was red-headed and angular, and the other two were taller and blond with completely different bone structures. He shook himself. Just because he did bone reconstructions didn't mean he had to size everyone up by their facial features.

"Yeah," Rusty supplied. "I'm her son."

"Jared Prior. I was one of your mother's doctors." He watched the blonde woman's face pale as he held out his hand.

"One of?" she asked.

Jared Prior took a breath. This was why he didn't like to be the one to talk to the family first. They got so worked up and antsy over the most insignificant details. "Umm, yes. We had a couple of doctors in the OR, just to fix everything as quickly as possible." _Goddammit._ He hated talking to the families. "She's doing okay right now."

"Can we see her?" the son blurted out.

"Not quite yet. Dr. Welsh is still closing, but your mom will be moving to recovery soon, and then we'll move her again, to the ICU or the regular surgical ward, depending on how she does when she wakes up."

The blonde had collected herself, and she spoke again. "What were the extent of her injuries?"

He had majored in medicine to fix people, not talk to them. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "The paramedics couldn't tell us much-" Actually, the police at the scene had told the medics to tell _him_ not to say much. "Your mother had some extensive bruising on the right side of her face and her left zy- cheekbone was broken. That's why I was there. I made a couple of small incisions to pin the bone. I'm not sure what happened, but her left leg was broken just below the knee, like it hit something in front of it. Pinned the leg, pinned her zyg- cheekbone, um. . . They're still working on her, though. We were-" He paused again, trying to judge the duo before him. The boy must have always known something could happen to his mother, and whoever the other woman was, she would have known the risks of the job as well. You couldn't just have a family member be a cop and always expect them to come home whole. "We did a splenectomy, because she was bleeding internally." He reached out for the blonde woman's elbow as she wobbled slightly.

Andrea shook her head and wiggled one foot, trying to cover for herself. "It's the damn shoes. They're not mine. They're-" she froze for a moment. "They're Sharon's."

Prior felt something buzz in his pocket, and he pulled his pager out. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Andrea beat him to it.

"You have to go; I understand."

"Thank you." He nodded. "Someone will be out shortly to bring you back to see her. I just wanted to make sure you got an update."

Andrea thanked him, and then returned to her seat.

Rusty stood in front of her. "What now?"

Andrea looked up. "We wait." She slid her fingers down the back of her shoes, flipped them off, and drew her legs up to sit crosslegged. "Try and sleep, Rusty. It's going to be a long couple of days."

He didn't want to sleep, despite the fact that it was now past close to eleven at night. "But-"

Andrea raised an eyebrow. "What else do you want to do?"

Rusty sighed in exasperation. "I don't know. Something?"

Andrea rubbed her hands together thoughtfully. "Look, Lieutenant Provenza and the rest of the jesters are going to be here soon. He said they're done at the scene, and Taylor has kicked them out."

"Took him long enough," Rusty muttered.

Andrea snorted. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, kind of." He didn't know how he could be hungry at a time like this, but he was. Maybe it was because he hadn't had dinner. And lunch had been, like, ten hours ago.

She gave him an appraising glance. "You're hungry. Okay. Well, so am I, and I would really rather not eat what's offered here if we're going to eat out."

Rusty sat down next to Andrea. He didn't know how she could be so calm and levelheaded. If he were her, he was pretty sure he'd be a hot mess, with his girlfriend's- he hoped that was the right term- kid being the last thing on his mind.

"Okay." He didn't know her well enough to know her eating habits. "What do you want?"

She gave him that look again. "You're the one who brought it up. You pick."

Well, if she was going to let him choose. . . He picked his phone up. "I'm just going to see what's close."

"Sure."

He tapped through his apps and finally found the one he was looking for. "There's a McAlister's just down the block."

"Perfect." She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a slip of paper and a pen.

The bag was black, with little charcoal and silver polka-dots. Rusty could remember Brenda's black monstrosity, and Andrea's bag was nearly as large.

"We can get enough for her squad when they get here. I'm sure they're hungry, too." She needed to stay occupied. If she could keep her mind on something other than the fact that Sharon was laying in a cold room somewhere with strangers breathing for her, sliding needles into her veins, sewing her back togeth- She cut herself off. "Flynn is vegetarian, yes? Does anyone else have restrictions?"

"Uh," Rusty racked his memory. "No?"

"Okay. Pull up the menu."

She scrawled everyone's name down on the paper, and dutifully noted Rusty's individualized suggestion for each person. It was mindless, but also exactly what she needed. She wrote her own order on the bottom and passed the list to Rusty.

"Okay. Pick something for yourself and go get it."

"What?" He stared at her.

"You're going to drive yourself mad if you stay here until they call for us. It's going to be a while yet."

"But-"

"I have power of attorney, Rusty. I _need_ to stay here."

"They deliv-"

"No. You need to take a walk, warm up-" It was cold in the hospital. "-and take a moment to breathe."

"What if something happens?"

"You're going to be maybe ten minutes away, at most. Less if you run. I don't think you'll miss anything, though." She hoped not. "I'll call."

Rusty frowned. He was running out of arguments.

Andrea beat him to his final idea. "Take my credit card. This one is on me."

"But-"

"You're a broke college student. You don't get to pay for this." She passed him a green-and-white Visa and raised her eyebrows again. "Go."

He stared at her for a moment. "Fine. But promise-"

"I'll call you if anything changes."

"Okay. I'll be right back." He got to his feet, slipped his phone into his pocket and headed for the door, casting one last glance over his shoulder as he left.

Andrea watched the boy go, and, as soon as he was out the door, she slumped down in the chair. She sighed deeply.

 _How did we end up here? One of us nearly dead, and the other one only linked in by some legalese._

Not that long ago, they had been something more. It had been incredible, Andrea thought, a beautiful few years. And then, somehow, something had changed, and it was all they could do to keep from snapping at each other in the office.

She didn't think Rusty had a clue about them. If she still knew Sharon at all, the woman wouldn't have breathed a word about her personal life to the boy. It had been nearly four years since they had broken up, and Sharon could have moved on, Andrea supposed.

For some reason, though, she didn't think so. If she was still listed as Sharon's medical power of attorney, that suggested that there was no one else.

She stood and walked to the corner of the room, where a pair of coffee pots sat on warmer. There were styrofoam cups, sugar packets and substitutes of every color, and a couple bottles of creamer. Andrea had to stifle a semi-hysterical laugh. They were clearly prepared for people to be up all night.

She poured a small amount of creamer into a cup, then riffled through the sweetener packets. White, brown, blue, green, yellow, pink.

 _Splenda or sugar?_

She sighed and drew a small blue device out of her pocket. It looked like an out-of-date iPod. It was a Dexcom, a continuous glucose monitor. Andrea rarely told anyone- and it was even more unusual for someone to just find out- but she was diabetic. Type one, the one that meant she took injections and tested her blood sugar. The one that people- more often than not- called the bad one.

The Dexcom was a two-part machine: the little blue display, and a tiny grey monitor with a needle that inserted under her skin and recorded her blood glucose. Her numbers, as she called them.

It was a damn pain. Even when all she wanted to think of was Sharon, she couldn't.

She clicked the Dexcom's round center button, and the screen flashed to life.

 _89 mg/dl, trending down._

A good range for blood sugar was 80 to 130, measured in milligrams of glucose per decaliter of blood. 89 was a good number, but it was dropping. Low blood sugars made her lightheaded. Very low ones could make her pass out, kill her.

Andrea chose the brown sugar packet and poured a couple in before adding coffee.

She swirled it as she walked back to her seat. It was several minutes before she actually drank any of it. As she was taking a second sip, the ER doors slid open again and a large group of people crashed through.

"Hobbs!" It was Provenza, striding out in front of the rest of the squad, face tight with worry.

She stood as he reached her, but he waved his hand and they sat down again, Amy and Mike dragging an extra couple of chairs over.

"I didn't think we'd find you so quickly. Why are you still here?" The Lieutenant asked.

Andrea frowned. "Where did you-"

"I mean in the ER. They haven't told you to go to a different floor or anything?" He had been down a similar path several times. Someone ended up in the hospital, but it seemed like the family usually was moved rather quickly: to the surgical waiting room, the outpatient one, the maternity floor. Whichever. Nurses didn't usually like a group of loud, angry cops cluttering up the ER.

Andrea relaxed. Oh. "They still have her in the OR, I guess. No one's come to move us. A doctor came out. . . maybe forty-five minutes ago? I'm not sure."

"What'd he say?" It was Flynn, this time.

Andrea turned slightly to face him. Flynn and Sharon had always had an odd relationship. When Andrea had first met Sharon, she had wondered if perhaps Sharon was bisexual and she and Flynn had been something more than just coworkers. That wasn't it. They had been in the same job, on opposite ends of parallel situations, and somehow collided. They were simply friends, albeit forged from an odd steel.

"Her leg's broken, and her cheekbone. The doctor- who came out- he was a plastic surgeon, I guess. They're still mucking around with her, though. Something about internal bleeding."

Flynn nodded. "Sounds about right."

Andrea looked around. "What happened? Rusty said she was on the 101. Did she go off the road or-?"

"No," Provenza said shortly.

"The doctor didn't know, either. So what happened? Was it a road accident?"

Provenza looked at the others in the group, and Andrea frowned. It was like the lieutenant to be so hesitant.

He clasped his hands together and leaned forward. "No, it wasn't. We'll have to corroborate exactly what happened with her, but as best we can tell, she heard a call over the radio and she responded."

"What do you mean?"

"She must have had her scanner on, her radio, and there was a call-out in her vicinity."

"Why didn't Hollywood deal with it? Or whoever the hell is in charge of wherever she was?"

"Shift change." It was Mike this time. "They were rolling as fast as they could, but there's only so fast they can go when there're double the officers trying to get in and out."

"She was closest," Provenza said. "By. . . a good ten minutes, I think."

"What was going on? Why did she go? I thought she was administrative."

Provenza looked down again.

Andrea looked between them, uncomprehending. They all looked exhausted, none of them meeting her eyes. Sanchez' shirt was spattered with blood, as was Amy's. "What was it?"

Finally, Flynn spoke. "It was an abduction."

"She was-"

"No, not her." Provenza again.

Flynn continued form his partner. "The call, it was about these kids who were abducted some days ago, now. They've been missing- high profile- and SOB was on it. Tip-lines, stakeouts, the whole nine yards."

Andrea nodded, biting her lip. "She's a sucker for kids."

"Don't we know it," Provenza muttered.

Andrea sighed. "You got a tip about the kids, and she went in?"

"Basically."

Andrea raised her brows.

"The call came from one of the kids," Amy blurted out quickly. "We didn't get to do interviews ourselves, but I guess the kids were in a cellar, and one of them got loose into the house proper and found a phone."

"The line was already tapped, ma'am," Sanchez said. "SOB had suspects already and was closing in."

"Why didn't they have men on the scene? You said they had stakeouts?"

"They just had a remote tap. You know, our computers at PAB would record incoming and outgoing calls. It's all digital now." Tao. "They didn't have enough to get clearance to set up a watch at the house around the clock. There were still too many options, too many variables."

"But. . ." Andrea hung her head, looking at her hands.

"Accidents happen, Hobbs. Andrea. We can't see the future, much as I wish we could." Provenza reached over and squeezed her arm. He wasn't sure how the lawyer fit into the thousand piece puzzle that was Sharon Raydor's life, but she was clearly a part of it. He'd heard rumors, years back, about the witch and a blonde that was frequently sighted near FID, but there had never been anything concrete.

"I know, it's just. . ."

"It's hard." Provenza leaned back and ran his hand through his hair. " _Special_ Chief Howard is on the scene; he won't be here for some time yet, but the Chief is coming."

"Pope?" Andrea asked.

"Well, him too, but Chief Johnson, I mean. She's coming."

The straightest, blondest blonde Andrea had ever met. She had no small amount of respect for the woman, but the woman could be the most unobservant detective on the force when it came to everyday personal relationships. Despite Sharon's assurances, she never truly believed Brenda knew Andrea by name before her transfer to the DA's office.

"Why?"

"You know what it's like when a family member is hurt. We're all one big family," Flynn shrugged.

"Extended," Amy added.

"And estranged," Provenza nodded. "The Chief is still part of it."

Andrea sighed again. "So she went in to rescue a couple of kids because she was closest to them, and then what?"

There was another long pause, and then Sanchez spoke.

"She was their white knight, ma'am. Back-up was seven minutes behind her. She went to the address, and no one was there, so we think she let herself in. 'Let' being a relative word."

"The kids weren't gone already?"

"The younger one slipped his cuffs and found the phone upstairs. His sister was too big to slip hers. She's seventeen and he's ten. He went back to her." Sanchez shifted his weight and swung his arms to clasp his hands in front. "The captain got in, and was working on the girl's cuffs when our perp came back. The door might have been open, unlocked. He saw her car. Maybe he just walked in on her. Surprised her. We don't know." He rocked on his toes, silent.

"What happened? What happened?!" Andrea stared at him, not caring that people were looking.

"He beat the hell out of her, Hobbs," Provenza said softly. "She put up a good fight, but she's what? Sixty-something? Even in peak condition she can't out-fight a twenty-something man high on crack."

Andrea sat in her chair again. She didn't remember getting up. "The kids?" she asked numbly. "Dead?"

"No." Amy said, smiling faintly. "She got them out. They were running out of the house just as SOB and patrol were rolling in."

"How was she when they got there?"

No one answered.

" _Goddammit!_ " Andrea shouted. "Tell me. I am not some delicate flower. I have been in this business as long as most of you, longer than some."

"Then you know as well as we do that it's different when you're close to someone." Provenza stared at her. "Your emotions are clouding your judgement. You don't need to know. In this case, you're family." _I think._

"Didn't you just say you were family, too?" Andrea shot back.

The doors to the ER hissed open again, and Rusty walked through them, a pair of plastic bags from the deli in each hand. His face paled, and he walked towards them quickly.

"I have food," he said unnecessarily. "What's going on?" He dropped the bags on the table between them.

Provenza and Andrea glanced at each other.

"Let's see if we can get a room," Provenza said after a moment. He sent Tao to the nurses' station, and within a few minutes, they were packing up their assortment of coats, wallets, and bags. A nurse escorted them back through a maze of hallways, and finally opened the door to what was clearly some sort of unoccupied staff break room.

"So." Rusty didn't look up from where he was sorting out the styrofoam boxes of food. He slapped Andrea's Visa on the table. "Here. What's going on?" He was trying very hard not to cry.

"Nothing new," Andrea said. She passed plastic tableware around and dropped into a chair. "Start talking, Lieutenant."

Rusty sat next to her, the rest of the squad slowly taking their seats.

Provenza glanced to the kid. There was a lot he didn't need to know. At the same time, Andrea Hobbs clearly needed that same information.

"Rusty. . ." Provenza tapped his plastic knife on the table.

"I want to hear it," the boy said definitively. He raised his chin and blinked, eyes bright.

Provenza glanced at Andrea, and she shrugged. She couldn't kick Rusty out of the room. She didn't want him to hear what was coming, but at the same time, he was no longer a boy. He was a young man, with every right to be included in a discussion of his mother.

"Fine." Andrea caught his eyes. "You can stay." She reached across the table and grasped his hand for a brief moment. "You haven't missed much except some details. I'll fill you on those in later?"

He looked at her, and she could see several emotions swirling through his eyes: fear, confusion, trust. "Okay."

"Okay." She squeezed his hand and let go. "Let's hear this."

* * *

 ** _Right Ascension- the angular distance measured eastward along the celestial equator and expressed in hours, minutes, and seconds;_** ** _α_**


	2. Summer Triangle

_**A/N- Thank you all for the reviews! This chapter is a little slow, but it's setting my scene. I almost have the next one done.**_

 _ **Crystal- I'm glad you're liking it!**_

 _ **amicam- Everyone dies! Just kidding. (;**_

 _ **Another point- I'm playing Gavin, Andrea, and Sharon as all being about the same age. I know a lot of people interpret Andrea as being younger than Sharon, but it was never clear, so. . . whatevs (:**_

 _Summer Triangle- an imaginary triangle drawn on the northern hemisphere's celestial sphere, with its defining vertices at Altair, Deneb, and Vega, the brightest stars in the three constellations of Aquila, Cygnus, and Lyra, respectively._

 _October, 2006_

Andrea couldn't believe what she had gotten herself into. She had started her new job at the District Attorney's office two weeks before, after transferring from the County Attorney's office. It was a bump from civil cases to felonies.

It was a great job. She had her own office, albeit in the basement. She had a paycheck that would have made her college-age self faint with excitement. There was only one problem.

Well, he wasn't really a problem. Just. . . overly cheerful.

She rolled her eyes as the said problem made his way back to their table from the bar. He had a mojito in each hand and passed one to her when he sat down.

"Gavin. . ."

"This is only your second and we've been here for hours, 'Drea."

"I don't drink much." It was half-hearted at best. Two was usually her limit. Sometimes three.

"I know, I know." He flapped his hand at her. "Alcohol makes your blood sugar drop. But these are sweetened, dear. I even asked the bartender how many carbs were in these. I think he thought I was gay."

"Gavin," Andrea laughed. "You show up to a bar in a cravat and a sweater, and you're clearly not hitting on me."

"Minor details, darling." Gavin grinned at her. He was about her age, maybe a little younger, and had been working at the DA's office for a few years already. "Either way, he said they're eleven carrr-bo-hyyy-drates." He stretched the last word out. "How much is eleven? In relation to other things, I mean. I can count past ten."

"It's a little less than an apple."

"Hmm." Gavin shrugged. "Good. I guess." He wasn't overly interested in carbs. Andrea knew what she was doing far better than he did. "Ooh, hey, did I tell you I found a girl for you?"

Andrea snorted. "The last one you 'found'-"

"Let's not dwell, dear. Anyway." He waved his hand through the air. "This one is great. She's a model for a lin-"

"A model? Gavin."

"No, no, no. She's sooo nice. And gorgeous. Did I say that? She's gorgeous."

"I'd expect that comes with the job."

"Hm. Her name is Jenna. She's from Maine."

Andrea sighed. "Gavin, I'm not even unpacked at the new office yet. Can I have some time before I get set up again?" A thought crossed her mind. "You didn't already make a date with her, did you?"

"No, I didn't, because I thought you might say this," Gavin pouted. He moaned. "It's next to impossible to get you out of your little bachelorette pad. At least do a little people watching with me tonight."

Andrea smiled, rolling her eyes slightly. "Fine."

"You first."

Andrea glanced around the room. "Her."

"Which 'her?' There are two dozen 'her's here." Gavin used 'people watching' as an excuse to refine his skill at picking out dates for his friends. Andrea didn't know why he hadn't just gone into some sort of match-making business. He was good at it. Generally. Nor did she know why he got such glee out of it, but it was amusing to watch, and it usually worked out to her benefit eventually.

Andrea subtly pointed to one who had just walked through the door. "That her." It was too dark to really see anyone well, but the woman had come in with several men and was wearing some sort of dark, crisp outfit. A professional of some kind.

Gavin inhaled sharply. "Ooh."

"What?" Andrea turned to look at him.

"Oh, nothing. Nothing." He shrugged when she continued to stare at him. "Redheaded. Athletic-looking. You have a type, 'Drea."

"I like people to be able to keep up when I go running."

"Bullshit. You like faster people. You like a challenge." Gavin leaned forward. "She'd be challenging. She runs, too."

Andrea scoffed. "Yeah? How do you know that?"

"I," Gavin grinned widely. "I have worked with her."

"Oh, come on. The one girl in the bar I tell you I think is sort of cute, and you work with her?"

"Mmhmm." He took a sip of his mojito. "She's a cop. I bet she could outrun you."

"A cop?"

"Yeah. There was some case I prosecuted and she was one of the officers involved. She's just transferred departments recently, too, if I remember correctly. Last year, I think." Gavin looked positively thoughtful. "And, you know, she was just divorced."

"Oh! Gavin." Andrea frowned. "Give the poor woman some time to herself. I'm sure-"

"She's not not dating. Well, not dating, I mean. She's willing to try going out with people," he finally clarified.

Andrea raised her eyebrows. "The caveat?" She knew him too well.

"Just a teeny, tiny one."

"Yeah?"

"She's got two kids."

"She's straight? Gavin!" Andrea pushed back from the table, against the hard wood of the booth. He didn't usually tease her like that, not on purpose, anyway.

"I said she had kids, not that she was straight!"

Andrea shot him a dark look and took a sip of her own drink. "She's bi? Or. . .?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know her well enough to ask that, exactly. We just have coffee from time to time. It came up. She's been going out with women, primarily. That could mean anything, really."

"Do she and the kids have names?" There. A safer subject.

"Uhh, yes. . . Her name is Sharon, and the kids are. . . Emma, no, Emily and Rich. . . ard. Sharon and Emily and Richard. How quaintly American," he added to himself.

"Gavin!" It was a woman's voice, low and mellow.

He and Andrea both turned, and Andrea groaned quietly. Of course, of course, Sharon American had seen them.

"Sharon, dear." Gavin eased out of the booth and stood to hug the redhead.

Up close, her hair was a little too dark to be ginger, more auburn, and her skin was splashed with freckles. She was wearing dark slacks, and a navy trench coat over that.

"Hello," she added politely as she saw Andrea. "I'm so sorry. I'm interrupting." She waved slightly at Andrea and started backing away, but Gavin caught her hand.

"No, no, no. Did you come here with anyone?"

"Just the boys," She said, nodding her head at the group of several men in suits who were now clustered around the bar.

"They can wait a moment. Sit." He pulled her down into the seat. "Sharon, this is Andrea Hobbs. She works at the DA's office with me. 'Drea, this is Sharon from the police, the one I was telling you about." As if it wasn't already abundantly clear.

"Hi." Sharon stuck her hand out, across the table.

"Hello." Andrea shook it, smiling faintly. Gavin knew her too well. Sharon could have fit in well with Andrea's exes. Wide smile, practical shoes, a firm handshake. Clearly someone who was confident, friendly, and willing to go run around.

"Are the two of you free tomorrow?" Gavin asked suddenly. It would be a Saturday.

Both women eyed him suspiciously, but answered nonetheless.

"Yes," Andrea said.

"Emmy and Ricky are both away for sports, so I'm free in the morning."

"Excellent. Why don't the three of us get breakfast and coffees somewhere?"

"Change that to 'late breakfast,' and I'll do it," Andrea replied. What are you doing?! Oh, my God. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Gavin contemplated them briefly. "Tell you what. I'll pick both of you up tomorrow morning, Sharon first at eight-thirty, Andrea next, probably just before nine. I'll take you to a new little place I found. Very chic."

"Do we need to dress up, then?" Sharon asked. Despite herself, Andrea found she rather liked Sharon. She would have asked the same question.

"Don't show up in running clothes, but no, no need to dress up."

Sharon nodded, and then turned as someone called her name from across the room. It was one of the men in suits. Policemen, Andrea realized. Whoever it was gestured to a bottle on the bar and waved her over. She waved back and held up a finger. One minute.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Andrea," she said politely.

"All mine," Andrea replied. They both smiled awkwardly, and then Sharon bid goodbye to Gavin and returned to the policemen.

"So, m'dear." Gavin wiggled his eyebrows. "For once I was telling the complete truth. I really do know her."

"Not even a 'my brother's wife's cousin met her' kind of 'I met her.'" Andrea sighed and picked up her mojito.

"Precisely." Gavin smiled broadly.

* * *

Sharon stood in her room, staring into the closet, and contemplating her choices. She suspected Gavin was trying to set her up. He had been entirely too sweet and quick to jump at the chance for the three of them to get a meal together.

She glanced out the window. It was cool, but not overly so. She pulled a green sweater and a pair of jeans from the closet. After a little digging, she found a pair of sandals. It was nice to wear something other than suits and heels. She had read an article that said wearing tall heels all the time could cause shoe size to increase.

She pulled her clothes on and ran a brush through her hair. It was also nice to have the house to herself.

Emily was sixteen, almost seventeen, and Ricky was only two years behind. They were wonderful, both of them, but sometimes, they were a bit much.

Gavin hadn't arrived, so Sharon stepped into Emily's room to open the window a crack, to bring in fresh air. The room was still the same shade of vibrant yellow Emily had painted it when she was younger, and the blue curtains were fluttering in the breeze. Sharon straightened the duvet- also yellow- and turned to contemplate the precarious pile of pointe shoes on the desk.

Emily swore she preferred to do homework at the kitchen table, but Sharon was fairly sure it was just because her daughter didn't have anywhere to put all of her old shoes.

There were several pairs, in various cuts, all worn ragged, the toe boxes black and grey with the satin peeling.

Sharon poked the pile and it wobbled.

"Hello-oo!?" Gavin had let himself in. Again. She had given the man a key sometime the previous year, after Jack's latest escapade and she had changed the St. Joseph's emergency contact papers to reflect Gavin's information, rather than Jack's.

"Down the hall."

There were footsteps and the blond man appeared in the doorway.

"Ooh, I like this room! It's so. . ."

"Yellow? Have you not been in here before?"

He shrugged. "What are you doing?"

Sharon pointed.

"Why in heaven's name does the child need so many pairs?"

"You're one to speak. They're all old. She can't dance in them anymore."

Gavin picked a pair from the top. "These aren't ripped or anything, though."

"See how the toe is worn down and the sides are stretched out?"

"Ah." He set them back down, but not gently enough, and the pile began to topple over. He reached to catch the shoes but the majority of them fell through his arms.

Sharon laughed as he apologized. "I've been trying to get her to do something with them for ages. This should speed it up."

"Still. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She walked back down the hall and grabbed her purse from the coffee table. "Let's go."

Nearly half an hour later, she was sitting in the backseat of Gavin's powder-blue convertible as he ran up to Andrea Hobb's building and poked the intercom button. He had left an enormous stack of legal books and journals in his front seat, in what she was sure was a ploy to get her and Andrea both in the back seat.

She had no illusions about their group coffee date. Jack had been gone nearly a year, and Gavin knew all about her distinct lack of lovers. Not for his lack of trying. He had managed to wait a little over six months after the ink dried on the divorce papers, but then. . .

Not that Sharon hadn't had _some_ fun. There had been five people she'd seen, only two who had made it longer than one date. They were all nice: a teacher, a retired military man, an actor, an actress, and a doctor. She'd liked the doctor best, to be honest. They both had odd work schedules and little free time, but had enjoyed each others' company. In the end, they hadn't been able to make enough time for anything regular. They still talked, though. Coffee occasionally.

Sharon was yanked out of her thoughts as Gavin jogged back to the car, blonde in tow.

The woman dropped into the backseat, and let her overlarge purse fall on top of Gavin's stack of books.

"Hey!"

"Darling, those books are a decade old. Get over it." Andrea sat back and fastened her seatbelt, rolling her eyes at Sharon.

Sharon grinned despite herself. Maybe Andrea Hobbs was more fun than her business suits implied.


	3. Time Dilation, Part I

_Time Dilation-a difference of elapsed time between two events as measured by observers either moving relative to each other or differently situated from a gravitational mass or masses._

 ** _Part I_**

 _October 2006_

* * *

Sharon fumbled for the phone, drawing it to the side of her face. It was cold against her cheek.

"Raydor." It was easier to keep Jack's name professionally than change it.

"Hey, Lieu, we caught one." Robbie Elliot's East Coast accent rolled over the phone. "Cap called me. Said we're t' meet 'im on Woodrow Wilson-"

Sharon listened, half-awake to his directions to the specific address. "Am I calling Mathias?" Mathias Ray was the last member of FID, a sergeant who had transferred a year or two after Sharon.

"If you don't mind."

"Sure. What time is it?" she asked as she rolled over.

"Ten of four."

She did the conversion in her head. "Three-fifty?"

"Didn't I say that?"

She snorted. "See you there."

"Yeah. I'll bring a Thermos." He hung up. They all took turns bringing coffee to late calls, breakfast to early mornings.

Sharon sighed, relishing one last moment in bed. It seemed like there had been endless rounds of audits, investigations, and complaints that her department had to deal with recently. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had breakfast with Emily and Ricky.

She got dressed, quickly pulling clothes from the closet. Slacks, button up, a thick-knit blazer, heeled boots. She ran a brush through her hair and glanced at her make-up in the en-suite bathroom. It was left from the day before, but it would be alright with some more mascara. She had gotten home late and fallen into bed, unwilling to scrub the day from her skin. Her make-up could pass as _smoky_ , rather than _tired_.

She padded down the carpeted stairs, and across the house. Ricky and Emily both slept upstairs, but noise always seemed to be amplified at night.

There was a small whiteboard stuck to the fridge. Sharon plucked the marker from its clip and wrote a note under the short shopping list.

 _Em, Ricky:_

 _Called out at 4. W/ any luck, back before school. DO NOT SKIP CLASS, please. Will see you in evening for sure. Love, Mom_

She sighed, grabbed her travel mug from the dish drainer and headed for the door, picking up her trench en route.

* * *

"So what have we got?" She stood on the edge of the road, overlooking a steep, brambly slope. Robbie reached across her and topped off her mug with the thermos.

"Seems like your run-of-the-mill OIS," Robbie muttered. Walt Tiffany, their captain, had repeatedly told them that each case was individual, nothing was stereotypical, and they were to act as such.

"Mm." Sharon pulled her coat tighter against the cold. "What happened?"

"Call for a noise complaint, homeowner said it sounded like someone was knocking over the trash bins. Two officers- over there-" he pointed up the road. "-came out, guy pulled a gun, bang."

"He's dead?"

"Naw. Officer Curlytop over there listened to whoever taught him to shoot and got the guy in the shoulder."

Sharon squinted in the darkness. It was hard to tell with the flashing red and blue lights, but it seemed like one of the officers had a wild mess of curls.

"Thank God."

"Yeah."

"Do we know what the guy was doing with a gun and the trashcans?"

"Um," Robbie paused. "Mathias rode in the ambulance with him, and patrol only got here a few minutes before us." He pulled his phone out. "Matty's on his way back, but you really oughta get texting on that little brick you call a cell phone."

"That's why I have you," she replied easily.

"Matty says the guy is awake and he walked- wait, that's the wrong one." He glanced up. "The texts came in out of order. The guy came to scare his ex-wife. Doesn't like her new beau. Doesn't like her having the kids all the time. Thought he'd annoy her a little. Says he walked up here from wherever his car's parked."

"The gun?"

"Doesn't say. He'll probably deny it's his."

Sharon rolled her eyes. "Another magically-appearing gun. Do we have a name?"

"Patrol got it. Jake Hoyt."

She started slightly at the name, but covered by sipping her coffee. Jake was close to Jack.

"Why are we here? Seems pretty cut and dry."

"Like one of us could have covered it? Yeah. I don't know. I guess it's all about the view."

There was an excellent view of the city. The street they were on looped along the side of the ridge Mulholland actually crowned, but it still held a spectacular array of older, beautiful homes. She sighed. "Want to split up? I'll take the ex-wife, you take Curlytop?"

"Sounds good. As much as I like overtime, I like my bed better."

She smirked. "Cap interrupt something?"

"Naw." He snorted. "Meg and I have been using each other for warmth more than anything lately. It's been so-"

"'Goddamn cold.' I know. You've only complained a dozen times," she said with a grin, walking towards the house.

"Hey, I'm not the one in a sweater, a coat, and a scarf." He raised his hands and backed away.

Sharon flicked her scarf over her shoulder and began walking when there was a loud rattling noise. She turned.

"Robbie? Did you hear that?"

"Hear-?"

It happened again.

He frowned. "I thought they cleared everyone out."

"They did," she said slowly. "Didn't that sound like a trash can?"

They both turned to face the two metal bins that lurked near the hedge. After a moment, one of them shivered again. Sharon looked up and caught her partner's eye.

 _"Down!"_

She dropped, asphalt stinging her palms and cheek. Then there was a flash and a bang. Sharon felt a sudden wave of warmth and pressure, and then it was gone with another wave of blistering grit.

She could hear faint noises behind a loud ringing. The blast must have set off a fire alarm. She slowly pushed herself back up from the ground. She was on the wrong side of fifty to be laying in the middle of a road before sunup.

She looked for Robbie. He was almost back on his feet. He seemed alright.

A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped and turned. It was the sergeant, Mathias Ray.

"What?" He was just mouthing words. She frowned. There was no need for quiet anymore. "You can say it aloud, Matty."

The young man took a deep breath. "I'm shouting, Lieutenant!"

"What?"

" _SHOUTING!_ I. AM. SHOUTING. AT YOU."

"No, you aren't." Then she remembered the bang that came with the blast. "Oh." That would explain the ringing. It was her ears, not an alarm.

He touched his ear while looking her in the eye, and she mimicked him. Her fingers came away wet, and she glanced down.

"I'M NOT A DOCTOR, BUT I THINK YOU RUPTURED YOUR EARDRUM."

* * *

Half an hour later, she was sitting on the back step of another ambulance with Robbie and a fresh cup of coffee. Her head had been thoroughly examined, and she had ended up with gauze taped over her ear and orders to visit a doctor later that day.

Robbie had road rash on one cheek, but nothing else. He grinned at her and said something.

"What?"

"Not our case anymore!" He repeated brightly. "They're handing it off to Special Ops."

"What about the OIS?"

"Ray and Cap about have it already. They'll pass the information off to Assistant Chief Pope and be done with it."

"What do we do?"

"Look pretty for the news vans and then head home. We've got the day off."

"That would be nice."

He nodded. "Maybe I can convince Meg to call in sick."

She shot him a look. "I thought you said-"

"Yeah, I know what I said." He grinned. "I'm too old to get shamed out of-"

"I don't want to hear it." She was pretty sure he still said it aloud, just at the normal volume she couldn't hear.

Another hand landed on her shoulder, and she looked up. "Cap." He said something to her and she sighed.

"What?"

"Go home!"

"Now?"

"Yes. You can't do anything else here."

"When-"

"Tomorrow." He looked down at her. Sharon Raydor was perhaps his favorite. Not that he'd ever tell her that. She had transferred to his division several years before, back when her kids were still in elementary school. He had watched them- and her- grow up in the years since. Despite denying favorites, he had never been so happy for her as the day he figured out she'd kicked her husband out of her home. It had taken him a few weeks to catch on. She was subtle and stoic, two qualities that let her excel in investigation. Now she was sitting before him, one ear awkwardly bandaged, still looking like the kid he'd hired.

"You both more than deserve a day off. Hell, if you call in sick tomorrow, I won't scrutinize too hard." He held out his hands, pulled both officers up, and pushed them away. "Get out of here."

* * *

"Mom!"

Sharon could still hear Emily's high voice clearly, though not her footsteps. She jumped when her daughter came up behind her.

"Mom!" This time she sounded horrified. "What happened?"

"Nothing really, honey."

"What-?" Emily waved a hand at her mother's head.

"Nothing, I promise." Sharon hung her coat up and reached up to peel the tape off. It really wasn't serving a purpose anymore. It just held the gauze over her ear while the bleeding stopped. She crumpled everything up in one hand and walked to the kitchen to throw it away. She turned around to find Emily waiting expectantly. She had missed something again.

"What was that?"

"I made waffles."

"Ah. It _does_ smell good in here."

"They're blueberry with vanilla protein powder."

"Dance was hard last night?" Emily didn't usually fix more than a bowl of cereal for breakfast unless she had been particularly hard pressed at her ballet classes.

"Yeah. We're doing some pretty long days of Nutcracker prep." The Nutcracker was the largest annual fundraiser for Emily's ballet school. She turned towards the kitchen. "Did I tell you I'm teaching a couple of classes?"

Sharon paused as she set her boots on the mud rug. She was fairly certain she'd heard her daughter correctly. "Teaching ballet?"

"Yeah. Ballet for eight to ten year olds, jazz, and an occasional Irish step." Emily picked a bowl of from the counter and stirred it lightly.

"You have time for that?"

Emily shrugged. "I can manage."

"Em..." Sharon picked up the water kettle and set about making tea. "Are they at least paying you?"

"I get my pointe and classical for free, and Liz said my costuming fees would be discounted, too."

Sharon bit her lip as the full picture became clear. "Emmy, I can pay for those. You need to be focussing on classes, not finances."

"Mom." Emily turned back from the waffle iron. "I'm going to be eighteen in a few months. You've been paying my dues for years. I can pay now."

"You don't need to."

"Mom. When was the last time you got anything new for yourself? Ricky and I have everything we need, and that's really nice, but you're shorting yourself. You work all these hours and," she paused to spoon batter into the iron. "When was the last time you were out with Gavin? He's nice," she added.

"Gavin is gay, sweetie." Sharon smiled, still facing the oven.

"I knowww... But he's so cool. You should hang out with him more."

Sharon laughed. "Just because he knows how to dance doesn't mean you can abuse that fact every time you see him."

"He started it last time."

"Mm."

"What about that new lady that came with him last time? She was nice."

"Who?"

"The blonde?" Emily grabbed a plate from the cabinet and forked the waffle onto it.

"Andrea?"

Emily shrugged. "I dunno. The lady with the sort of long blonde hair and the nice suit."

"Andrea. She works with Gavin."

"Well, I like her."

"You like everyone." Sharon set the table. "Is Ricky up yet?"

"Yeah, he was in the shower."

As if summoned, the boy walked into the room, dark hair sticking out at all angles. "Hey Mom."

"Hi honey." Sharon grabbed him as he walked past and tried to smooth his hair down.

"Mo-om!"

She smiled and pushed him away. "Go get your food." She poured her tea and waited for her children to settle at the table. She was getting a headache, so she walked back to the hall to get her purse. She kept ibuprofen in her wallet. When she came back, she paused, good ear toward the room.

"Be nice-"

"-she's back early-"

"-I don't know. I bet it's on the news, but-"

Sharon walked back into the room. "Emmy, did you find your practice tutu? It was in the hall closet."

"Mom, the radio said something on Mulholland blew up and Emily said you were there." Ricky stuffed another chunk of waffle into his mouth.

Sharon sighed. "Ricky, honey, I'm fine. It was just a little thing."

"What happened to your ear, then?" Emily slipped bobby pins into her hair.

"Nothing bad. It should heal up in a couple of weeks." Sharon sat down and finally took a drink of her tea, washing the pills down with it.

"Is that why there's blood on your shirt?" Ricky poured more syrup over the small remainder of his breakfast.

"What?" Sharon looked down at her sleeves.

"Collar," Emily muttered. "Collar!" she repeated.

Sharon pulled the ironed collar into her line of sight. Sure enough, there was a coin-sized blotch on it. "Yes."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Emily looked at her mother concernedly. "I can skip-" Seeing the look on her mother's face, she changed routes. "Or I could call Gavin-"

"Gavin has work, too. I'll be fine. I have the rest of the day off."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Emily had passed through the angst-riddled middle teenage years and moved into the confident young adult stage that Sharon was sure would be disrupted once the girl started college. Nonetheless, she still worried every time Sharon came home with any sort of injury, from band-aid to bullet hole.

"I'm sure." Sharon took another sip of tea. "Em, did you get your tutu?" The tutu was a stiff circular creation of tulle, netting, and satin that Emily dragged through school and ballet lessons every day. Unlike her pointe shoes, she only needed one, and Sharon could mend it when ever it ripped.

"Yeah. Thank you." Emily knew the conversation was over. "I caught it in a doorjamb."

"I was wondering." The rip had been mid-way down the skirt.

"Sorry."

"It's fine, Em. As long as you don't rip the skirt from the satin, I can fix it."

"I know." She got up from the table and carried her dishes to the sink. "Hurry up, Ricky."

"Coming." He got up and followed his sister into the kitchen, stuffing the last of his waffle into his mouth.

Sharon saw them out the door and waited until Emily had backed down the driveway and driven around the corner before closing the front door, locking it, and leaning against it with a sigh. It had been a long week, and it was only Tuesday.

She felt better after a despicably long shower, followed by a change into sweatpants and an old t-shirt. Following that, she turned her phone off, closed the living room curtains, and laid down on the sofa.

Despite the early call-out, she couldn't sleep. She finally got up again to make another cup of tea.

While the water was heating, her mind drifted back to her impromptu date with Gavin and his friend, Andrea.

It had been nice. It was rare for Sharon to get out of the house without either child in tow. Gavin had taken them to a small French place between Hollywood and Griffith Park, an area of town Sharon wasn't familiar with.

They had eaten outside and taken their time. Sharon had the distinct impression that Andrea hadn't known what to expect from Gavin, either, and the woman had seemed rather bemused.

Both Sharon and Andrea had warmed up to each other, and Sharon found that the blonde had a rather cynical, dry sense of humor. She was smart and quick to respond to Gavin's occasional- subtle- pokes at both women's dress sense. Apparently, Sharon was too formal and Andrea wore loose-cut jackets entirely too often. After Andrea cut him off with a sharp comment about loose jackets giving her extra mobility, and then promptly whacked the man in the shoulder, she had turned to Sharon and told her that she like Sharon's blazer just fine.

Sharon felt her face warming as she thought about that moment, and shook herself. She grabbed a new mug from from the dish drainer and poured hot water into it. She didn't need to be getting into anything. Andrea Hobbs was probably straight, anyway.

Then again, if the woman was friends with Gavin, that wasn't necessarily true.

She walked back out to the couch and sat on it, holding a pillow to her chest with one arm and sipping from her mug with the other hand.

She moaned softly. Andrea Hobbs was cute.

She was cute and funny and everything Sharon had ever wanted in another person.


	4. Time Dilation, Part II

**Time Dilation- Part II**

 _ **A/N- This chapter came a little awkwardly. . . I feel like Andrea really gets beat up in this one. Maybe it should be called "three awkward biological truths about Andrea Hobbs." That's how life goes, though. You don't get to pick when everything happens. Sometimes life just. . . throws a wrench in your plans.**_

 _ **Speaking of wrenches, sorry for the wait. I hope the length makes it up for you. I had a wicked, never-ending series of exams the last couple weeks. Only 53 days left of semester, though! Thank you all for you kind words and reviews. (: Enjoy!**_

* * *

Andrea hated putting on makeup, straightening her hair, and wearing high heels. Nonetheless, she did all three every weekday morning. It felt good when she was done, because it allowed for a marked separation between DDA Hobbs and Andrea. DDA Hobbs was the six-foot woman who dominated the courtrooms with her icy demeanor. Andrea was the significantly shorter woman who had two cats, enjoyed documentaries, and laughed French onion soup out of her nose.

The latter had only happened once. Nearly twice.

The almost second time had been the previous weekend, with Gavin and Sharon the cop. Sharon-the-cop. That was her name, in Andrea's mind, most of the time. Not that she knew many other Sharons, but the addition of the woman's profession just seemed to fit. That's what she was. Andrea knew there were other aspects of the woman- she had a kid or something, she swam- but she was primarily her job. Most of the conversation about her involved her job. She would apparently work all hours of any day, holidays, summer and winter.

It made Andrea respect her all the more. Taking care of a kid, working full-time, and apparently not cutting herself any slack. It was impressive.

Andrea sighed as she stepped out of her car. It was a cool fall morning, and- to be honest- she'd rather be at home with the cat for another hour. She had been called to Parker Center nearly two hours before she'd normally leave for work. Apparently, something had happened overnight, and Robbery-Homicide was in the thick of it.

It wasn't that she didn't like Russell Taylor, it was just that. . . She struggled for a definite reason.

She didn't like him. He was polite and smart, but something about the brusqueness of his manner bothered her.

She pushed the Andrea part of herself away and let DDA Hobbs take over. That didn't stop her from rolling her eyes when she walked into R-H and heard Taylor greet her with stunning buoyancy.

"Morning, DDA Hobbs. We've got everything laid out, just need you to look over it."

She grunted a brief hello.

"We've already got coffee brewing in the back room. Might be a coupla guys back there, but help yourself. I'll meet you outside the interview room in five minutes?"

She nodded, and walked through the office. If he was offering coffee, she'd gladly take a cup. Or three.

When she walked into the break room, shared between Robbery-Homicide and the unfortunately named Priority Murder Squad, there were a few men already in the room.

"I'm telling you, I saw her and that FBI guy the other night." The man had short-cropped steely hair and was wearing a grey three-piece suit without the jacket.

The other was shorter, older, and pouring a cup of coffee.

Andrea set her bag down and started rummaging through the cabinets for a mug.

"You remember what she told us her first night on the job?" The older man asked.

"No. What? That she was coming to take over our case?"

"No. She told us that she would have stayed married if she liked being called a bitch."

"So?"

The shorter man turned around and threw his free hand in the air. "Ye gods, Flynn! She isn't interested in getting married!"

"I didn't say he was her fiancé! I just said I saw her out with some guy, and it didn't look like he was just any old friend." He crossed his arms over his chest.

And people thought women gossiped. Andrea muffled a snort.

"Can I help you?" Shorty was looking at her, decidedly annoyed.

Andrea schooled her expression and faced him. "Mugs?"

"And you are?"

The door banged open again, and a petite blonde walked in, curls and florals founcing with each step.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The two men were gossiping about Brenda Johnson. The bitch comment sounded like something she'd say.

"Chief!" Both men straightened.

"For heaven's sake, how long does it take to get coffee?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Sorry, Chief, we were just helping uh," Provenza barely stumbled, continuing on without Andrea's name. "Find mugs."

"Uh-huh." She clearly didn't believe them, but didn't press the issue, either. "Go on back and help Detective Daniels out with the mapping."

"Yes'am." The two words came out in a singular mumble, and both men departed.

"DDA Hobbs," Brenda said politely. "Ah'm sorry about them. They're a little. . ." She sighed. "They're still gettin' used to me. It feels like I've been here for years, but..."

"It's fine. Rather amusing." Better than Taylor's saccharine cheer.

Brenda nodded. "It is." She turned to leave, but paused. "Mugs are in the second cabinet. Provenza probably wasn't too helpful."

Andrea turned and opened the cabinet of interest. "How are you settling in? I haven't seen you in a while."

Brenda Johnson had been in and out of the DA's office when she was first getting settled, and Andrea had talked with her occasionally. They hadn't worked on any cases yet, but Andrea figured it was only a matter of time.

"Oh, I'm alright. My mama's been talkin' about comin' out here for the holidays with Daddy, and that's. . ." She sighed. "A li'l complicated."

Andrea held her tongue until she had gotten her coffee and then walked over to join Brenda. "This doesn't have to do with someone from the FBI, does it?"

Brenda sputtered with shock. "Where did you hear that?"

"Your lieutenants." Andrea raised an eyebrow. "They're pretty sharp."

Brenda rolled her eyes and opened the door. "A little too much so, sometimes." She paused in the hallway before they split paths. "I used to work with him in Washington. He was transferred here a few years ago, and we met up over a case when I first started." She shrugged. "We still got on pretty well."

Andrea smiled. Only Brenda would describe a serious relationship as we got on pretty well. "Well, good luck. I'll see you around? Maybe sooner this time?"

Brenda nodded. "I'll do my best."

That was all she could ask for.

Andrea made her way back to Robbery-Homicide, avoiding Taylor on her route to the murder board. She scanned it, trying to get the broad strokes of the investigation before she was filled in completely. It wasn't finished; there were a few photos and notes jotted, but that was it. She paused when she reached the bottom of the board.

Two officers injured. Sgt. Robert Elliot- roadrash, Lt. Sharon Raydor- ruptured eardrum. No hospitalizations req- treated at scene, both at home, statements to be taken 10/21.

Andrea stared at Sharon's name. It shouldn't bother her; she barely knew the woman. Nonetheless, she was slightly worried.

How the hell do two people end up with roadrash and an ear injury? It was an odd combination. The first thing that leapt to mind was attempted murder with some kind of spike in the ear. Andrea shook herself. She had been watching too much cable.

"Chief?"

"Yeah?" Taylor came up behind her.

"What happened?"

"Oh." He walked up to the board and tapped a photo of what looked like a heap of garbage. "Little bit of explosive in the trash cans."

It was a heap of garbage.

"Sergeant Elliot dropped to the ground and scraped his face on the asphalt. Lieutenant Raydor dropped and was fine, but she was closer to the explosion and the noise blew her eardrum." Taylor said it casually.

"Oh. Are they okay?" She couldn't just ask about Sharon. It would be weird.

"Mmhm. They got a day off, but they'll be back tomorrow. You can listen to their statements then, DDA Hobbs, don't worry."

Andrea wanted to roll her eyes, but she restrained herself and managed to smile tightly. "Glad to hear it."

She ended up working in Parker Center for the rest of the day. Despite Taylor's assurances that everything was running smoothly, she ended up spending large pieces of time waiting on the department to finish doing something or another. It left her in a bad mood by five.

By five-fifteen, she was in the parking garage, hunting her car down. She pulled out her phone and fired a quick text when she got off the elevator, before she lost service.

 _Andrea Hobbs: Hey, are you free tonight?_

The reply came surprisingly soon. She checked her phone when she answered, surprised to find she still had a bar.

 _Gavin Baker: mmmm_

 _Andrea: What does that mean?_

 _Gavin: Sort of? I'm not at home, but you should come join me._

 _Andrea: Where are you? Dinner? I don't want to interrupt anything._

 _Gavin: 15169 Marlin Place_

 _Andrea: What is that?_

 _Gavin: It's technically Van Nuys…_

 _That wasn't quite what she meant._

 _Andrea: Gav! That's halfway across town._

 _Gavin: I'll make it worth your time. I'll text directions._

 _Andrea did roll her eyes._

 _Andrea: Fine. I'm leaving work now._

After she found her car, she got in, threw her purse in the passenger seat, and reversed out of her spot. She shook her head. Gavin had to have something in store if he was dragging her out to Van Nuys. He knew she'd text him after work, as per usual.

It took about forty minutes for her to get across town and back on Sepulveda where it ran through Sherman Oakes and- eventually- Van Nuys. She drove past several apartment complexes and small shops. It was close to six, and the streets were quiet. Andrea appreciated the change from the ever-bustling LA downtown.

She passed a grocer and nearly missed her turn. The following two turns came quickly, and then Andrea found herself reading house numbers, searching for 15169. She saw Gavin's powder-blue coupe first and parked behind it.

She frowned staring at the house. It was most certainly a residence, not any kind of business. Why Gavin would bring her here, she couldn't guess.

She sighed, walked up to the door, and rang the bell. A moment later, the door flew open to reveal a willowy teen with long dark hair dressed in a pink satin bathrobe.

She cocked her head to the side. "Andrea?"

"Yes..." Andrea was fairly certain she'd never met the girl.

"Gavin said you'd be coming." She stepped back and let Andrea into the house. "Uncle Gav!" She shouted down the hall. "She's here!"

Gavin himself popped around the corner. "Excellent. Emmy, dear, go let your mother finish fitting that leotard. Andrea and I will be right out."

Emmy... Emily. "Gavin, is this Sharon's house?"

"Didn't I tell you that? No? No harm, no foul." He led her across a living room, the back wall all glass and sliding door, then around another corn to a narrow kitchen. "I thought this would be fun. None of us get out enough, let alone together, and since she can't get called to work tonight, I figured we might as well get together." He pointed to foil-covered dishes on the counter. "Chicken alfredo. Spinach. There's seltzer in the fridge or water, if you want to be boring." He handed her plates and silverware. "Take these out back and I'll get the food."

Andrea did as she was told, retracing her steps back to the living room and opening the sliding door. The plastic blinds clattered together as she walked outside, and the yard's occupants glanced up.

A dark-haired boy was laying on the ground watching as Sharon worked on the willowy girl's sequined leotard. Emily and Richard. She had heard quite a bit about them from Sharon, and little from Gavin, but never actually met them.

"Hey," Andrea said. She wasn't sure what she should do. Sharon's sewing was spread over the small table.

"Hey, yourself. You can move my stuff." Sharon waved to the table. "I'm almost done. Just tailoring Emmy's Nutcracker costume. The-" she paused. "I want to call it garnish, but that's not right. Emmy? What's this called?" She lifted the edge of a bedazzled lace overpiece. The corset and tutu were a soft shade of dusky violet and the spangles were cream and silver.

Her daughter shrugged minimally, trying not to disrupt any pins. "Sparkles? I dunno."

Sharon rolled her eyes and smiled at Andrea. "I'm glad to see you outside of work again." She stuck one last pin in the lace trim and patted Emily's leg. "Go change. I'll finish tacking everything down later."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Mmhm. Ricky? Go wash up, okay?"

Once they both vanished inside, Andrea sat down. "How are you?"

Sharon looked good, hair glinting with sun streaks and curling wildly. She was wearing jeans and a black sweater, more casual than Andrea usually saw her. They usually met up for working lunches- a favorite of Sharon's- coffee before work, or a late- very late- dinner after work. Andrea wouldn't have minded meeting up for an occasional run- as Gavin had predicted, she realized ruefully- but even then, she'd known Sharon lived too far away.

"I'm not half bad. I can't hear too well out the one ear, but it'll clear up soon enough." She hoped Andrea couldn't see through the false bravery. It could have been worse, but that didn't mean she had to be grateful for her current standing. She stood and gathered her sewing supplies into their basket, then looped her arm through the stiff tutu on the free chair and set both of them near the door. "How did you meet Gavin? He's never actually said, I realized." She had always been curious, but it had never come up on any of their occasional outings.

"Same as you, I'd expect. Work." Andrea raised her eyebrows, managing to phrase the word as an answer and a question.

"Work. And then he stayed for the free ballet performances. Admires the physics of it, he tells me." She sat down next to Andrea. They had only known each other a few months now, but it seemed like longer, despite the fact that she knew very little about the blonde. Gavin, she supposed. He was at fault, being their common factor and their divisor, keeping their conversations public and direct. "How did he glom onto you?" She said it lightly, but Gavin rarely integrated his work friends and friend friends. People in LA were fairly liberal, but Gavin rarely showed his full hand of cards to his coworkers and clients.

Andrea flushed slightly. "After my first week on the job, I ran into him again at a gay bar."

"Oh."

Andrea glanced down. Clearly that hadn't been what Sharon was expecting.

"You're. . . gay, then?" It was asked hesitantly.

Andrea chewed her lip for a moment. It never got any easier. "Yeah. I am." She quickly took a sip of water to try and conserve what little face she had left. Talk about jumping off the deep end.

"Thank God." Sharon laughed, and Andrea looked up in surprise. "I thought I'd never find anyone else."

"Pardon?" Andrea's mind went blank in surprise. Gavin and said Sharon was complicated, but she hadn't thought...

"I take it you met Gavin at that place near Hollywood with the red shag carpet?"

"Yes. . ."

"I've been there, too. You and Gavin are the only two people on- or involved with- the force that I've met who aren't straight, at least openly so."

"So, you're not-" It was strange, having this conversation with a women she'd only known a few months, when it had taken her years, decades even to come out to family and other friends.

Sharon scrunched her nose. "Not entirely straight and narrow, no."

That seemed to be as far as Sharon wanted to explain. Andrea left it alone. She recalled Gavin saying something about his suspicions some months before, but she'd never really believed it. Finding a woman who was beautiful, kind, mature, and gay. . . Well, that almost never happened.

"Oh." Andrea was silent for a long minute. It was one thing to have Gavin suggest that Sharon was queer, and it was another to hear her say it. "It's nice to know that there's someone else here."

Sharon nodded.

There was plenty of anti-harassment legislation in place and the people of California themselves were generally liberal, but it was still awkward. There were always people that felt uncomfortable, not matter how educated or experienced they were. There were people who had never previously met a gay cop. Religion. Fear.

Though how someone could be afraid of Gavin, Andrea couldn't fathom. Either way, it was good to have friends.

She shook her head, brushing away the thoughts. "I heard a quote once, something like 'If male homosexuals are called gays, then lesbians should be called ecstatics."

Sharon laughed.

"Andrea, dear," Gavin had finally come outside, and apparently caught the last bit of conversation. "I think that if we put your quote to the test, you'd find that I have more fun than you. You keep yourself busy with all of your cases and books and boring police chiefs, and I go out and have fun." He patted her shoulder. "I can teach you the ways, though."

He set his dishes down on the table and flopped into the chair between Andrea and Sharon. "I'll teach both of you. Neither of you are any fun. I can never drag either of you out." He rolled his eyes. "And you-" he directed his words at Sharon. "You procreated, and now you have two little monkeys to take care of."

Sharon's kids had walked out as Gavin was speaking, and Emily leaned over his chair. "Us?"

"No, dear, your mother's other children."

Emily ruffled Gavin's perfectly styled hair. "We love you, too." She sat down next to her brother. "Can we eat? I'm hungry."

"Dig in," he said.

The conversation ceased for a few minutes, and Andrea took the chance to observe the kids. Emily was small in every way, with dark red hair that fell nearly to her elbows and a small, peaked nose. She had changed from the ballet costume into a camisole and overlarge sweatpants. Her brother was taller, but younger perhaps, though they both looked to be in their mid-teens. He was wearing a ratty t-shirt that read 'give blood, play rugby' and grass-stained shorts. Andrea suspected the outfit was one he wasn't allowed out of the house in.

He reached for the pan of pasta and Andrea passed it to him, mentally thing to estimate the proportions of chicken and cheese to pasta.

"Gav? That's white pasta, right?"

"Mhm." He glanced at her curiously, and then remembered. He kept forgetting. It was _so_ easy to forget. "Carbs?"

Emily moaned. "Don't tell me you're on one of those low-carb diets. Those are the worst!"

Andrea laughed. "God, no. I'm, ah, I'm diabetic." She hated having to say it aloud. It wasn't some disease that people respected. It came with a heavy load of prejudices and false assumptions.

Ricky looked up. "One or two?"

That surprised her. People didn't usually know there were two types.

He caught her look. "Our cousin Taylor has it."

Ah. Sharon had never mentioned it before, but she had seemed oddly understanding when Andrea had mentioned it some weeks back. "One." The autoimmune, insulin dependent type.

"Oh. That sucks."

"Ricky." Sharon raised an eyebrow.

"Stinks." He rolled his eyes. "Do you have a pump or what?"

"I use pens." Pens were prefilled insulin cartridges. They came with about a week's worth of insulin in them, and Andrea would screw a tiny disposable needle onto one end whenever she needed to take a shot. At the other end, were a dial and a button that let her choose the amount she needed and then inject it, respectively.

"Really? How come?"

"'Why,' not 'how come,'" Sharon cut in.

"Why?" Another eye roll.

"I used to forget to refill the insulin reservoir in the pump. And the pens are easier to travel with. I travel around town a lot for work."

"Cool." The answers seemed to satisfy Ricky, and he turned his attention back to his plate.

Sharon glanced sideways at Andrea and smiled. Andrea grinned and shrugged. She was used to it. She pulled her pen from her pocket and quietly dialed the dosage in, before sliding the waist of her pants down slightly and sliding the needle into the tissue under her hipbone. It only took a moment, and she had tucked the pen away before anyone noticed.

The conversation started up again, turning toward Emily's upcoming performance- she was sixteen, and it would be her last year dancing in Los Angeles. She was moving to New York the following year, as she'd been accepted into the American Ballet Theater's junior program. She had apparently attended several of their shorter programs, through the school year and summer, and liked it. She was worried about her chances of going professional, as she was both older and not _the_ first in her class.

Andrea was inwardly shocked. Since when was sixteen "old"?

Emily would graduate high school a year early, in the spring, and move in June, assuming no problems.

Ricky had three more years of school. He was a freshman, at the same school as his sister, but apparently completely uninvolved with her. She was in theater and busy with dance, and he was in the honors program, playing rugby after school.

"It's a miracle he hasn't broken anything yet," Sharon muttered. "Your Uncle Tommy will get an earful when that day comes."

"Hey, he only got me to play rugby. I could be playing hockey in the off-season."

"At least then you'd be wearing a helmet."

"Mom," he moaned. "I wear my mouthguard, we all have plastic cleats..."

"Yes, and that other boy still had to get stitches after he was stepped on. I remember that."

Ricky grinned. "It looks super cool now. He's got little scars from the stitches and-"

"Enough." Sharon wrinkled her nose. "Thank you."

Gavin leaned in conspiratorially. "She's surprisingly squeamish for a cop. Last Halloween, Emmy whipped up some fake blood, we poured it all over him-" Ricky. "-and he hid in the closet until Shar came home, and-"

"Oh, my God," Sharon rolled her eyes. "That was absolutely horrible."

"I've never heard such a scream," Gavin said. "It was fantastic."

Andrea listened to most of the conversation, enjoying the easy banter that ran around the table. They had a way of including her in the conversation without forcing her to say much.

Finally, Gavin, sat back. "What say you if the littles and I run out and get a couple pints of gelato and brought them back?"

It was followed by a wave of protest by Emily and Ricky who apparently didn't like being called 'little.' Nonetheless, they agreed with Gavin.

"Fine, fine." Sharon shooed them away with her hands. "We'll get the dishes. You three go."

There was a frenzied rush of activity, searching for shoes, and a slam as the front door crashed shut.

Sharon turned to Andrea. "Welcome to Hell." She said it with a grin, and Andrea knew she didn't really mean it. "My dad calls the house 'Hell's Quarter Acre.' It's always a bit of a disaster around here." As they carried the dishes into the house, Sharon kicked a dog toy and a few shoes out of the way. Andrea glanced at the house again as they liked through it.

There were paintings on the wall, a few professional and framed, but most of them were clearing by Emily and Ricky, varying from bright finger paints to some surprisingly artistic sketches and photographs. The latter played with lighting and seemed to be from varying angles of the wings of a stage.

Sharon caught Andrea's gaze. "Emily. She'd go into art if she wasn't dancing."

"They're beautiful."

The fridge was plastered with less professional photos, ballet and blurry shots of rugby, shots of both kids with wide grins and various backdrops. There were exams, too, and what appeared to be an essay of Ricky's.

"They're everything, huh?" Andrea said it quietly, but Sharon heard her.

"Yes." Sharon set the dishes down and stared at one photo of the two kids on Santa Monica Pier. It was a few years old now, and she could see both herself and Jackson in their freckled faces and long limbs. Jack's eyes and her dark hair. "I can't imagine what it'd be like without them. They've gotten me through a lot of hard times, whether or not they know it."

Andrea nodded. She couldn't understand, not totally, but she could empathize. "They seem like good kids. They're going places." Sharon had probably heard the phrase a dozen times, but it was true. They had the same fire in their hearts that their mother did. Andrea could see it. Anyone could.

"Andrea?"

"Mm?" She turned slightly.

Sharon raked her hand through her hair, pushing the curls out of her face. She seemed suddenly lost for words.

"What is it?"

"What. . . What would you say to maybe trying- trying something out?"

Andrea froze. She was fairly certain she knew what Sharon was implying. "Pardon?"

"At the risk of sounding juvenile," the words rushed out. "We've known each other for a few months now, and I liked you the first time I saw you, but I didn't know you weren't straight, and now I do and I wanted to know-"

"If I'd go out with you?" Andrea finished. She glanced away, slightly overwhelmed. "I think Gavin has been angling for this since he met us."

Sharon smiled faintly.

"The feeling is mutual," Andrea started.

Sharon's smile faltered. There was going to be an objection.

"And I would love to try this out."

"Yeah?"

Andrea nodded. Maybe it was a little early, but they were both grown women with plenty of experience behind them. They were professionals. And Sharon was. . . everything she could wish for.

"You don't mind the kids?"

"I've got half a dozen nieces and nephews. Yours don't seem half-bad in comparison to my brothers' lot. No," she added concisely. "I don't mind. They're part of you."

"And my hours, and the ex, and the dog-"

"Dog?" She hadn't met a dog.

"Oh, God," Sharon sighed. "He's been in the mud room. He's. . . a little much with visitors, sometimes. I should probably let him out. Are you okay with dogs?"

"Is he okay with cats?"

Sharon raised her eyebrows. "You're a cat lady."

"You have kids, I have cats," Andrea countered.

Sharon laughed. "Fair enough. He's fine with cats." She walked away in what Andrea assumed was the direction of the mud room. "Name's Voldemort."

"Voldemort? As in Harry Potter?"

"Emily named him. The idea of yelling 'Voldemort' in the middle of the dog park was apparently appealing to her. We usually call him Mort."

Andrea could hear a door open, then claws clattering on the tiled floor. A massive dog came hurtling around the corner and nearly skidded past Andrea. He walked back to her and snuffled her hand. She petted him and looked up at Sharon.

"He's big."

Sharon grimaced. "A little over 135. I think he's mostly Great Dane, maybe a little something else, since Jack got him from a pound. So he said. I suppose Mort might be purebred. I never really know with Jack."

The dog was silvery grey, with a short coat and long, lanky limbs. He had a slightly mopey look, but his ears perked up when Sharon opened the back door. Without further ado, he left Andrea and walked out to the back yard.

Sharon closed the door partway, and looked at Andrea. "This might be a deal breaker, but the dog likes to sleep in the bed."

Andrea laughed. She didn't expect to reach that point for quite a while, but it was still funny. The dog was as big as she was.

"You'd really be okay with everything?"

Andrea looked at Sharon. Here was a woman who had seen too much negativity and experienced too much of it in her own life. She had left own own dreams to support a husband who'd quickly left her with two small kids and no support of her own. From what she'd said, policing had originally been a résumé builder for the day she'd apply to law school.

Andrea didn't want to hurt her anymore. If it didn't work out. . . But maybe it would. Maybe, for once, they could both find some sort of happiness.

"I'm in."

Sharon stepped forward with a bright smile. "May I?"

"What?" Andrea stared at her curiously.

Sharon touched one hand to Andrea's cheek. "I would really, really like to kiss you."

"Oh." Andrea pulled Sharon closer. "Well, Lieutenant, I think we could reach an arrangement here."

"Mm? Are you suggesting a deal, Counselor?" Two could play this game.

"I'd like to negotiate some terms," Andrea mumbled was they crashed together.

"Like what?" Sharon pulled back for a moment.

"Mm, this is a good start. I didn't catch that last bit though."

Sharon laughed against Andrea's mouth. "Let me rephrase." It seemed too sudden, too intimate to open her mouth, but she- and seemingly Andrea- were content as it was.

It was quiet for several long minutes.

Sharon could faintly taste something tangy and metallic as she kissed Andrea Hobbs. Before she could identify it, Andrea pulled away.

"Wha-?" Sharon's lips felt warm, and she touched them as she opened her eyes.

"Nosebleed," Andrea muttered as Sharon realized her fingers were slick with blood. "Goddamn." Her face flushed with embarrassment as she pinched her nose with two fingers and cupped her other hand around her chin. Blood was already dripping through her fingers.

Sharon couldn't help it. She giggled as she stepped back to retrieve a roll of paper towels.

"It's not funny!" Andrea moaned from behind her hand. "It was our first kiss, and-"

"You made it memorable," Sharon laughed. She passed a wad of towels to Andrea, and the blonde pressed them to her face. "Does this happen often? Or just when you're excited?"

Andrea rolled her eyes, but they crinkled up at the corners, and Sharon knew she was smiling. "Very funny. No, I have an enlarged artery in my nose, and when I bump it right. . . It's a damn mess. It's not a big deal, pretty common, really."

Sharon stepped to her- _Girlfriend? Were they girlfriends now? It seemed a little too soon to say that...-_ and gently took the paper towels from Andrea. They stuck to Andrea's fingers, sticky from her bloody hand. "It's a gusher." She peeled the wad back to look at Andrea's face and found a steady trickle of blood still dripping from her nose. "Have you had it looked at, then?"

"Yeah." Andrea sighed. "They're recommending I get it cauterized, but. . ."

"But what?" Sharon pressed Andrea's hand back over the towels and walked to the sink to dampen a washcloth from one of her drawers.

"It's going to hurt like a bitch if I do it."

Sharon glanced back over her shoulder as she waited for the water to warm. "Is that not better than this?"

Andrea shrugged. "Blood washes out of just about anything, more or less. Eventually."

Sharon laughed at the statement. "What you're telling me is that I shouldn't spray Luminol around your closet?"

"Yeah. It'd probably look like I killed someone. A few someones."

Sharon set the bloody paper towels on the counter and began to clean the blood off Andrea's face. Most of the bleeding seemed to have stopped. Andrea's lips and chin were covered, though. Sharon methodically cleaned her skin, being cautious around Andrea's nose, and eventually worked her way over Andrea's bloodied hand.

"Is that the only reason you don't want to do it?"

It took Andrea a moment to switch back to the original subject. "I guess. It's not expensive, it's not time-consuming. I just- I'm not a fan of pain."

Sharon glanced up. "Is anyone?"

"Fair enough."

Sharon was silent for a moment. "At the risk of sounding stupid, aren't you pretty used to needles and things like that?"

Andrea let Sharon turn her hand over. "Because I'm diabetic?"

"Mm."

Andrea took a moment to reply. "I guess so."

"You test your blood sugar all the time and there're all of your shots."

"The poker needle for my finger is pretty little. I can show-"

"No, that's alright."

Andrea smiled. "That one doesn't hurt anymore." She raised her hand up to Sharon's eye-level. "See these?"

Past the last joint, the sides of Andrea's fingers were marked with dark dots and some of them were positively black with the marks. Sharon ran her fingers along Andrea's hand.

"These are all from your blood sugar tests?"

"Finger pokes," Andrea confirmed. "Yes."

"It doesn't hurt?"

"No."

"I bet your fingerprints are pretty distinctive."

Andrea laughed. "Yep."

"But your shots? Do those hurt?"

Andrea shrugged. "Mm, sometimes. Usually not too much. You pinch up a little bit of flub and stick it in. Sometimes it hurts, I mean you can hit a nerve or some kind of blood vessel, and it'll bleed, but other than that. . ."

Sharon wrinkled her nose. "I'm sorry."

Andrea shrugged again. "It's okay. It's not too bad, all things considered."

Sharon frowned. "I don't understand."

"It isn't cancer, I have all my limbs, and there's something I can do about it."

Sharon's brows drew together.

"Insulin," Andrea clarified. "It's not a cure, but it's not half bad."

"You test your fingers every day and you take injections- how many times a day?"

"Usually five to seven, sometimes more."

"You're incredible, Andrea Hobbs, and you shouldn't let a little cauterization scare you." Sharon turned to rinse the washcloth in the sink. "What's the process?"

"They squirt lidocaine up your nose until you're numb, then go in with some chemical stuff and cauterize it. I guess it doesn't hurt until later."

Sharon wiped the last of the blood away. "How about if I come with you and hold your hand?" She smiled again.

"Is this your way of asking me out on another date?"

Sharon grinned. "Maybe."

"You are impossible."

"That's what most of the departments are work tell me."

Andrea laughed.

On the other side of the house, a door crashed open again. There was another thump as the dog wriggled back inside to greet Gavin, Emily, and Ricky.

"Honeys," Gavin called. "I'm home!"

Sharon rolled her eyes. "And so it begins." She glanced at Andrea. "Maybe we could keep this quiet for a little longer?"

Andrea agreed quickly. "Gavin will never let us hear the end of it."

"He enjoys playing matchmaker far too much," Sharon said darkly. She held a washcloth under the tap and ran hot water over it. "Here you go."

Andrea took the cloth with her less bloody hand. "You did pretty well with blood."

"I've learned to manage. You don't raise two kids without a significant amount of blood involved. It's just the needles, I guess."

Gavin stepped into the kitchen and set a bag on the counter. "What happened? I left you alone for less than an hour, and one of you attempted murder?"

"I got a nosebleed."

Gavin stared at her skeptically. "You're going to die." He crumpled the plastic bag and set three cartons on the counter. "We couldn't decide, so we went for. . . ah, grapefruit sorbet, peanut butter pie fro-yo, and cotton candy. Ricky and Emily have claimed the peanut butter, though."

Sharon glanced to Andrea. "Cotton candy?"

"Oh, you know me too well." Andrea blotted her face with the washcloth one last time. "I'm going to buy you some new ones."

Sharon picked a stack up spoons up from one drawer and headed outside to rejoin her children and the dog, Andrea just behind her.

"Come on, Gav!"

"Coming. Just need a tissue." He didn't, not really. He smiled to himself. There was some subtle difference. It wasn't much, but they were nearly brushing shoulders as they walked. Maybe someday soon, his two best friends could be slightly less lonely. God only knew they both deserved it.


	5. Parallax

_**Dear everyone, I am so sorry for disappearing off the earth. Really, honestly, deeply apologetic. I want to write this, and I've been loving all the reviews. They mean a lot. Thank you. Thank you for not giving up on me haha, especially Crystal, Hamster, Misha, and DefyingNormalcy. (Don't worry about giving me your nonexistent firstborn b/c I am quite enjoying this!) I broke my thumb and it's splinted, but as I'm typing this, I'm finding I can type pretty decently, except for capitalization, so I think we'll be okay on this front. Happy New Year's!**_

 _Parallax- the effect whereby the position or direction of an object appears to differ when viewed from different positions_

 _December 2006_

Andrea strode into the newly- rapidly- christened Priority Homicide Department and looked around for a curly blonde head. The chief had her hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail and looked thoroughly strung out. She had been through the wringer, Andrea knew. A few months back, there had been a shooting in the murder room, followed by administrative leave. Andrea had heard Brenda's boyfriend had just moved in, too, and the woman's mother was visiting.

"Chief Johnson?"

The woman spun on a heel, looking to Andrea with wild eyes. "Oh, DDA Hobbs, you're here. Oh, tha's excellent."

Andrea set her briefcase down on the older lieutenant's desk, nudging a bobblehead and a change jar out of the way. He shot her a dark look. "Here to help, Chief."

"Alrigh'." Brenda sighed deeply. "Sorry. It's been a long day." She strode over to the whiteboard. "Here's what we've got." She launched into an explanation of facts and circumstantial evidence.

Andrea found herself nodding along. For all of the Chief's time off and frazzled look, she had done a beautiful job of wrapping her case up.

"Why couldn't you get the gun?" Andrea asked eventually. The lack of a weapon was the only thing holding the case back. A weapon could mean fingerprints that lead to a rock-solid positive identification.

The grey-haired detective in the room sighed, leaning back in his chair and shifting his toothpick across his mouth. "Judge Grove doesn't want to grant a warrant based on circumstance."

Andrea glanced to the murder board and frowned. "This seems pretty conclusive. . ."

"Yeah," Flynn said. "But Grove is worried about backlash if we're wrong-"

"Which we aren't!" The detective with the bobblehead growled.

"Which we aren't," Flynn conceded. "But Felix Moore is apparently some big-shot banker, and Grove doesn't want to risk it and-"

This time it was Brenda who cut in. "Grove would have a fit if we went around him."

Andrea snorted. "You've got that right." She sighed, looking over the board. "Okay. What would you prosecute on if you could?"

"Well, he all but confessed," Brenda said. "Tha's the most frustratin' part of it! He lawyered up, so it's all 'hypothetical'-" she swept her arms up for air quotations. "An' so we can't prosecute based on that, but we know more or less how he did it. We're just missin' a couple facts-"

"Which we'll figure out soon," Provenza interrupted.

"But because of that, Judge Grove ain't convinced enough to grant a warrant." Brenda placed her hands on her bony hips and huffed angrily.

"The ideal charge?" Andrea reminded her.

"First degree murder of his wife's lover, Milo Moore-"

Andrea frowned. "Don't tell me that's his brother." Brenda had missed explaining that factoid.

"Yeah. Sorry. Milo is Felix's brother."

"So the wife-"

"Jocelyn," the bald detective supplied.

Tao? Andrea thought. "Felix Moore murdered his brother Milo because Jocelyn was screwing around with Milo."

"Yeah."

"And you want first degree for Milo's murder-"

"And attempted for Jocelyn."

"Right." Brenda had covered that. Apparently the wife had been the one to tip the police, saying her husband killed her brother-in-law.

Andrea looked at the murder board. "Let's start at the top. First degree murder charge and attempted homicide would come out to life without parole if we had hard evidence, maybe life with option for parole after twenty, thirty years if we could convict with what we have now. I can start there and work downward."

" _Downward?!_ " It came in the form of a loud squawk from Brenda and annoyed shouts from her two older detectives.

Andrea sighed and turned to face them, raising her hands in resignation. "Look. Your evidence is circumstantial- No, let me continue. It's circumstantial, and whether or not I agree with Grove's decision, you can't get anything concrete. You have to have Grove as your judge. You can't change his mind and he'll go _ballistic_ if you go around him. I will do my God's-honest best to get Felix Moore to agree to life without parole, but. . ." she trailed off and shrugged, raising an eyebrow. "There's only so much I can do."

Brenda sighed too, albeit more dramatically, and yanked the elastic tie out of her hair. "Fine, fine." She flapped her hand toward the interview rooms. "I'll join you in a minute. Buzz, if you could set up electronics. . ."

* * *

Sharon glanced up as someone simultaneously knocked and opened the door.

"Andrea."

The blonde leaned in. "I was in the vicinity, thought I'd drop by."

Sharon smiled. "I'm glad you did." She straightened up and set her pen down. "It's been a very long, very boring day."

"Paperwork?"

"Mm."

"Sounds nice," Andrea laughed. "I had to talk Brenda Johnson into letting me negotiate down on a prison sentence because she couldn't convict in court based on what she had."

Sharon winced. "Ooh."

"Yeah." Andrea glanced to the clock on the wall. "Are you going to head out sometime soon?"

Sharon looked up, too. "Oh, God, it's after six already. Yes," she said firmly. "Yes, I am leaving now."

"Are the kids out tonight?" Andrea asked. Sharon usually left earlier to pick her kids up, if at all possible.

"No. Emmy picked Ricky up. He gets out of rugby about when she's done with ballet."

"Oh, that's right. You've said that before."

Sharon stretched, relishing the feel of her back crackling into place. "Dinner?"

"You want to go out?" Andrea was surprised.

"No. Sorry. Would you want to grab something from the store and come back to my place? I don't think the kids will have eaten yet."

"Sounds great." Andrea was glad the other woman didn't want to go out anywhere either.

"Alright. Mind if I call them and ask for dinner preferences?"

"Not at all. I'll get packed up while you call."

Andrea slipped back out into the near-deserted office and reorganized her satchel, throwing out gum wrappers, a dry pen, and an empty coffee cup crammed into the mesh outer pocket.

Sharon joined her a minute later, trailing a hand over Andrea's shoulders. "They'd like pizza."

Andrea quirked an eyebrow. "And what did you say?"

"I said I'd be alright if I could get it from the store and if there were vegetables involved."

"Excellent."

"You're okay with staying in and eating frozen pizza?"

Andrea laughed. "Dear, life isn't all nice dates and deals. There're a lot of frozen pizza trial days, too."

Sharon smiled.

* * *

In the end, it had been a little over an hour before they had gotten the pizza, cooked it, and set the table. And then promptly decided that eating at the table was overrated. Instead, Ricky had loaded a DVD into the player and they'd sat in the living room, spread across the floor and sofa, to eat dinner.

Now Andrea was standing in the kitchen, washing plates as Sharon dried. The kids were in the other room, homework spread on the table. Their voices carried slightly, and Andrea caught occasion words about differentials, vectors, and basic algebra. Their age difference placed Emily in calculus and Ricky in freshman math.

"This was nice."

"Mm?" Sharon glanced up. "What was that?"

"This was nice."

"Oh." Sharon sounded surprised. She smiled. "I'm glad."

"They're nice kids."

Sharon laughed. "I've tried."

As if hearing her, the voices in the living room rose. There was a brief squabble, but it settled just as Sharon took a step away from the sink.

Sharon raised her eyebrows. "See?"

"Oh, honey, you should have seen me and my brother. It was far worse than this."

Sharon looked down to the dish in her hand again to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. It seemed natural for Andrea to drop endearments without thinking. She had started a couple weeks before, just the occasional _I got it, hon,_ and _dear, squinting at those forms isn't helping your eyesight. It was gradually getting more frequent, whether or not Andrea realized it._

Sharon liked it. No one had called her 'honey' or 'dear' since Jack, and even though she suspected Andrea used the term for several people, it still made her feel warm inside.

"Were you with Chief Johnson today?" Sharon asked.

"Mm. She had a bunch of circumstantial evidence and no warrant."

Sharon nodded. "I feel bad for her. I mean, it's not easy to get a confession but still. . ."

Andrea laughed. "I feel you. I swear to God, that's how she packs the Ding-Dongs away. She worries so much about everything else that the carbs just evaporate."

Sharon snorted. "I take it she's pretty small? I haven't actually met her."

"What?" Andrea was surprised. "I would have thought IA would be by her department fairly often, given how field-heavy they are."

"No, so far Cap usually visits her himself. She's only been here two years now."

"That sounds about right. I can see why he doesn't pass her off to you or anyone. No offense," Andrea was quick to add. "She's just. . . a handful. It's her way or the highway. I heard she has Pope wrapped around her finger pretty well already."

Sharon laughed. "I have a story to tell you about that." She set the last dish back in the cupboard and turned to face Andrea. "This doesn't leave the kitchen, okay?"

Andrea raised her eyebrows, surprised by Sharon's serious turn. "Alright."

"She used to be CIA- which isn't big news- and then she worked for the Met in DC. She was involved with Will Pope there. Involved involved."

Andrea frowned, forehead creasing. "That would make fit, but how-"

"I was part of her hiring committee." Sharon smiled crookedly. "Whenever we hire someone in to a higher rank, as opposed to bringing recruits in through the Academy, we have to have a committee. I wouldn't really have the rank for it, normally, but I'm the Women's Coordinator, and that means I have to try and get them to hire women for the upper ranks."

"Oh, I didn't know that. Congratulations?" Andrea wasn't sure how long Sharon had had the position.

"Thank you. I've only had it a year or so now. I got it right before we hired Chief Johnson."

"And you never met her?" Andrea was surprised.

"No." Sharon shook her head. "There was a paper application- which I suspect Pope pushed her to fill out. LA is a long way from Atlanta. She passed that, obviously, and then a couple teleconferences, and then her in-person interview was with the mayor and the Chief of Police. Maybe a couple of the Assistant Chiefs, I'm not sure."

"The big bosses."

"Yep."

Andrea glanced up at the clock and was slightly shocked by the time. "I should probably head out soon."

"Already?"

"It's almost eight."

Sharon smiled, leaning into Andrea's side. "I'm just giving you grief."

"I know."

It had been several weeks since their impromptu kiss in the kitchen. The same room they were now standing in. Sharon wasn't sure if it was because Emily and Ricky were usually both just a few feet away, but nothing had really happened since that first night. She didn't really mind the slower pace, and she didn't think Andrea did either. If it bothered the blonde, she didn't show it.

There were occasional lingering touches, hands brushing over backs, and kisses to cheeks, but even that was quietly done, in the privacy of offices and homes or with the promise of anonymity on Santa Monica Beach.

Sharon knew why she was slow. Ever since Jack, she'd been oh so careful with her heart and her trust. She didn't know Andrea's reasoning. She supposed there could have been someone in Andrea's past, too, or it could simply be that the other woman was slow to warm to others.

"It's cold out."

Andrea raised her eyebrows. "I don't think that's quite how it goes."

"Pardon?"

 _"Ba-by, it's co-old outside. . ._ " Andrea sang the words.

Sharon laughed. "Oh." She bumped Andrea's shoulder again. "You have a good voice."

"Sure, sure."

"No, really!" Sharon protested.

Andrea grinned, still clearly disbelieving. "Wait until you hear some more. No, not now. I don't want to make your ears bleed; we just cleaned the kitchen."

They stood together in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Sharon spoke.

"It is cold. And you're, uhm, you're welcome to stay if you want." The words came out in a rush, and Sharon felt her face heating up.

Andrea looked the smaller woman over. Sharon had ducked her head slightly, hiding behind her red mane, but Andrea could still see a flush creeping up her cheeks. She chewed her lip. It meant a lot to her that Sharon had offered, and she knew the woman was really standing out on a limb.

But it was too soon. Andrea had gleaned bits and pieces about Sharon's past from Gavin and Sharon herself. She had found that it took Sharon a long time to separate enough from her husband to divorce him, and then it seemed like she'd bounced between lovers for a good while after the papers went through. There were a few more long-term beaus and belles, but not many.

From what Gavin said, Sharon had kept it from her kids quite well. She worked long, unpredictable hours, and threw in occasional, unpredictable dates. A late night, or one spent completely away went unquestioned, so long as she was back by morning, packing lunches and walking Emily and Ricky to the bus.

Andrea didn't want to rush Sharon into anything, and- to be completely honest- she was a little afraid of being the next stepping stone if she ran headlong into Sharon Raydor's arms. It was better for both of them if she held back, she told herself. It gave her time to adjust to a new relationship, and it gave Sharon time to decide what she wanted.

"Thank you, but no."

Sharon looked up sharply, alarm on her face.

Andrea reached over and cupped Sharon's cheek. "Don't worry, love. It's okay. _We're_ okay. I'm too old for a night on the sofa-" She laid a finger over Sharon's lips when the woman moved to protest. "And it's a little soon to sleep together, perhaps." She raised an eyebrow.

Sharon glanced away, then snorted, laughing slightly. "You may be right, for once."

"For once?" Sharon was changing the subject. Andrea recognized the dodge and accepted it. "Am I not usually correct?"

Sharon shrugged. "Yes, in the courtroom, but the rest of the time, mm, well. . ."

Andrea laughed. "How can I prove myself to you?"

Sharon looked at her. "You've been doing a pretty decent job of it."

"How about this, then?" Andrea prayed her memory was correct. "Emily has a calc test tomorrow, right?"

"Yes. . ."

"Then how 'bout the four of us go to breakfast the day after? My treat."

"Oh." Sharon looked surprised. "Before school?"

"Mm. There's a few good spots between here and LA proper. If we leave here a little early, we'll have plenty of time."

Sharon thought about it. She could count on one hand the number of people she'd allowed to have breakfast with both her and her children since Jack had left. There were even fewer who had been over for dinner. Andrea had already been twice.

"Alright." It was surprising how easy it was to accept.

"Alright." Andrea grinned.

Sharon was immediately glad she'd agreed. Andrea was smiling brightly, and it lit up her whole face.

"I'll pick you up a little before seven on Thursday, then?"

Sharon groaned softly. "That is ungodly."

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure signing on with the DA's office promoted me from 'somewhat annoying' to 'city-employed devil,' so. . ."

Sharon laughed. "Fine, fine. Go home and I'll see you on Thursday."

"Sounds good."

Sharon walked her to the door after Andrea said goodnight to Ricky and wished Emily well on her test.

"Good night."

"Good night."

Sharon hesitated to close the door, and it gave Andrea pause. It was just enough time for Sharon to lunge forward and kiss Andrea's cheek.

"Sweet dreams, Counselor."

Andrea took a moment in return to kiss Sharon's mouth. Unlike their kiss weeks before, it was a brief, chaste kiss. It was strong enough to leave Sharon's lips tingling, but not much more.

"I'm just going to trust that you don't have bedbugs and skip that last line." Andrea grinned, then turned and walked out to her car, humming something softly.


	6. Cassiopeia

**_A/N- Sorry for being a shithead about updating. . . I have no excuse. Nonetheless, I love reviews haha. This chapter was written while I was in the midst of a WFR course, so it's more a medical fun chapter than any real plot advancement. I'll summarize at the bottom in case you're not interested, and the new chapter should be up soonish._**

 _Cassiopeia- a constellation in the northern sky, named after the vain queen Cassiopeia in Greek mythology, known for her unrivaled beauty_

* * *

 _"Ambulance, bay two. ETA three minutes. Physician requested."_

Dr. Jay Moore glanced up from his computer and sighed. Rachael, his resident, glanced over and grinned.

"That's you."

"I know, I know." He was the emergency attending physician of the night. "I was just hoping to finish SOAPing this one chart." SOAP was an abbreviation for the documentation of the physicians' work into the computer system.

"If it's another drunk guy in need of a banana bag. . ."

"I'll save him for you, Rae."

She rolled her eyes and turned back to her work.

Jay walked down the hall to the bay doors. He could hear the sirens. "D'you know what's going on?" he asked the nurse already waiting.

"Yeah." The woman, Vic, sighed. "Some cop got beat up pretty bad." She flicked a couple braids over her shoulder. "GSW and assorted injuries."

"Have you-"

"I've already called neuro and ortho for a consult. We're setting up a trauma kit in 37-" one of the emergency department's many rooms- "And Magda is trying to get an OR."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Did the bus radio anything useful in?" The paramedics would often call in as they drove, making sure Moore and his companions were prepared.

Vic snapped nitrile gloves on as the wail of sirens got closer and tossed him a pair. "GSW in the upper left quadrant, likely cheekbone fracture, but she's all bruised up, so they aren't sure. Definite tibial fracture." She raised her leg and gestured under her knee. "About here."

"How the hell. . . ?"

Red and blue lights crossed his face, so Vic just shrugged at him as they both walked out into the evening air. The paramedics were shouting directions to each other, and one of them peeled off to begin dictating what they'd done for Vic. Jay caught up to the stretcher as the wheels crashed to the ground and they began to wheel it in.

The woman's face was slicked with blood. An IV was taped into the crook of her elbow, saline running full bore from a bag. One of the medics was on the stretcher, kneeling over her chest and 'bagging.' He was holding a plastic mask tightly over her mouth and nose, and squeezing a connected rubber bag to force air into her lungs. Forcing her to breathe.

"When did you start bagging her?" Jay asked.

"Seven minutes ago. Respiratory function was bad from the get-go. Oxygen saturation crashed, so we started bagging her."

 _Seven minutes._ That was a long time to go unable to breathe properly.

"You tried taking her off?"

"She couldn't breathe independently as of two minutes ago."

 _She'll need a respirator, then._

"The GSW?"

The paramedic at the foot of the stretcher spoke. "Upper left quad of the abdomen, no exit, likely nicked her spleen. That'd explain why she's bleeding so fast. Think it might be causing a hemothorax, and that that's what's decreasing the lung function."

"Hey, doc?" It was the EMT at the head of the stretcher. "Cops at the scene asked us to tell you to keep it quiet. They don't want the family freaking out before they can send their own detectives over to give notifications."

"Sure."

They had reached the assigned room, and the next moments were a blur as the paramedics shifted the woman to the hospital gurney and backed out, leaving Jay and his fellows to their work.

"Someone get a king tube on her and hook it up to the respirator. We can't keep breathing for her."

"Gauze!"

"Someone tell the blood bank she's A-pos-"

"Shit! Get me another 16-gauge. They keep blowing out."

As the attending physician, it was his job to stand back and make sure everyone else was doing _their_ job. Most of the time. This time, he worked alongside Rae and Vic.

Within another five minutes, an EKG was set up, more saline was hung, blood was being ordered, and x-rays taken.

Jay stared at the x-ray on the computer screen for a long moment. "We need the OR now. Start getting her ready for transport. Someone tell ortho that they've got a broken tib-fib and facial bones. I want neuro to comb her skull for fractures and bleeds that we might miss with just our quick scan." He could it from the x-rays, that the spleen was ruptured, that internal bleeding was compressing her lung. "Someone read me this lady's medical history."

"Sixty-three year old female, GSW, unknown extent of injury, allergy to penicillin according to her bracelet, no known medications or prior history. She's a cop." _A professional sister of sorts,_ went unsaid.

Jay watched as one of the nurses fought to get a new needle into a vein without success. He grimaced, looking at the monitor that was screeching wildly overhead. The woman's heart rate was soaring and her blood pressure was sliding downward.

 _Hypovolemic shock._

He pushed up to the bedside again. "She needs a central line, distal veins are collapsing. I'm going for her jugular. High and out of our way." He held his hand out for the catheter and needle, and waited for Vic to clean the woman's neck off. "Ultrasound." He quickly moved the wand over her skin, and slipped the needle into the vein when he found it. Blood oozed over his gloved fingers, and a flash of red filled the needle. "I need a triple lumen."

A triple lumen would allow for three separate IV lines to run into the single port on her neck, keeping everything neat and out of the way of the surgeons.

"What do you want in 'em?"

"Saline, blood, tetracycline antibiotics. I don't want her getting an infection from that bullet."

Vic leaned over the gurney and snatched up a pair of bandage shears to finish cutting the woman's clothes off. The paramedics had only cut the shirt and one leg of the slacks open. As she snipped through a rather expensive bra, a thought crossed her mind. The woman's name was certainly on file, but no one had actually said it.

"What's her name?"

"Uh, Captain Sharon Raydor."

There was a commotion at the front of the room, and Vic turned to spare a quick glance. Cops. They always came for gunshots, and she didn't see why there wouldn't be even more of them when it was their friend. She looked back into the room. There were already half a dozen personnel, and they seemed to be getting Sharon Raydor under control. After finishing with the shears, Vic stepped out, into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

To her surprise, there were only three people waiting in the hall: two uniformed young men and a middle-aged woman in a suit. Vic surmised that she was the detective in charge.

"Excuse us, ma'am," one of the men started. "We're just here to-"

"She isn't going to be able to talk to you now."

He nodded. "We're here to stand guard-"

Vic wanted to roll her eyes. They could stand guard for the next five minutes, but then Sharon Raydor would go to the OR, where the cops couldn't follow. "We'll be moving her soon, and I'm afraid you can't come-"

"Is she alright?" It was the woman speaking. She ran her hand through her long blonde hair. "What's. . .?" She trailed off, hands still gesturing her confusion.

"Are you her commander? I'm sorry, but-"

"No," the woman said glancing at the uniforms. "I'm um, I'm her legal power of attorney." She winced slightly.

"Oh. Okay then. If you'll come with me, to fill out some paperwork about her history?" _What an odd way to introduce yourself._

"Yeah." The blonde was looking past Vic, into the room. "She's still. . .?"

Vic softened. "She's hanging in there. We're stabilizing her for surgery." She took the woman's elbow gently. "You can help us best by giving us her history. She hasn't been a patient here before, so we don't have anything."

"Sure." She turned on her heel and followed.

"Are you her sister? Or. . ?" She didn't want to say 'wife,' because sometimes people were touchy about being asked that. Especially when they _weren't_ gay. Vic leaned over the nurses' desk and started gathering the papers.

"We're just friends. Old friends. We work together." The blonde seemed shaken. "I'm just. . . ah. . . I'm her power. . ." She trailed off.

 _Power of attorney._ There was no 'just' about it. The blonde was the puppet master in the drama that was playing out, holding the strings to the Captain's life.

Vic started to lead the way back to the waiting room. Her job now was to keep everyone calm and get as much information as she could back to Jay Moore.

"I need you to fill out these papers and bring them to the front desk when you're done, okay?"

"Sure."

"I'm gonna ask a few questions first so we can get information back to Dr. Moore as soon as possible. That okay?"

The blonde nodded tightly.

"Do you know what happened?"

"No. She would have been on her way home, I think."

"You aren't LAPD?" Vic had thought 'work together' would indicate more knowledge.

"Ah," the woman seemed surprised. "No. District attorney's office. I just work with her a lot."

"Okay." _Keep it mum, Vic._ "Allergies?"

"Penicillin. She's got a necklace, I think."

"Yep. Anything else?"

"Bananas. That's it."

"Is she on any medications?"

"Ah. . . Ibuprofen sometimes? I think that's it."

"No birth control pill?" People often forgot the pill was medication.

"No."

"'S far as you know, she's not pregnant?" It would be odd, at sixty-three, but not totally unheard of. It was also a standard question.

The blonde snorted. "No. Definitely not."

 _Okay._ "Prior surgeries or illness we should know about?"

"Appendicitis in college, and she had two kids. She was shot before, but it was a graze. Nothing else, really."

"Okay. Good." She hated to ask the last questions. "I'm sorry, but I need to know this. Is she a donor?"

The woman froze. "Yeah, yeah, she is."

"DNR?"

"Um, no. She doesn't have one."

"Okay." Vic stood up. "As soon as we have news, I'll come find you. If you think of anything we should know, ask the desk for 'Vic in the ED.'"

"Okay." The blonde stood to shake Vic's hand. "Andrea Hobbs."


End file.
